Page 77 of Shadows of Nightshade
“I’m not!” I gasped. I did not want to see Finn destroyed, just permanently maimed so that he, too, would feel the same betrayal and helplessness as I did.
“Well, whatever you’re doing, please take it to your seat.” Miles wrapped his arm around my shoulders and turned me to the row of chairs. “Coach is getting impatient.” He looked at the field—at the middle-aged adult screaming at the team of younger men—and my ire fled.
I was keeping him from his practice.
“Sorry—” I began, but my statement was silenced as Miles pressed his fingers to my lips.
“Just wait here, okay?” he asked, but it was more like an order.
We walked to the seats, and he dropped my bags at the end—the furthest space away from the other girls. We were close enough for them to hear our conversation, so I sat, nodding, as he turned away.
“See you soon.” He lifted his hand in a wave, and I, more slowly, waved in response. With each of his retreating steps, it grew harder to ignore the familiar way that the onlookers studied me.
Still, even if things ended up the same, it’d be worth the hassle—for friendship. I would do anything for the people I cared about, and I could easily see that these men were worthy of that attention. All I wanted was to have real friends, and for that, I would do anything.
The restroom was dimly lit,and even though the dark line of stalls looked creepy under the dim, flickering lights, my biological urges outweighed my survival instincts. Not even theinteresting interlude where Miles decked a teammate stayed the demand.
I moved with bated breath, completing my routine, and washing my hands. Maybe I’d catch the tail end of the fight.
One of the flickering lights died, capturing my attention. The promise of violent sportsmanship paled in comparison to the familiar foreboding in the air.
There were no spirits nearby, at least not that I could feel, but my breath was visible in the glass in a manner that didn’t make me think it was just the cold. I shivered as I splashed the cool water over my hands, and even though the faucet was set to hot, the temperature was not getting any warmer.
My attention wandered to the open doors at the end of the long room, and a chill settled in my bones. I couldn’t hear anything from the outside, not even Miles’s absurdly loud fans. But that didn’t mean anything. I could be too far away.
Would anyone be able to hear me if I screamed?
Maybe, I could be a pretty loud screamer.
My gaze returned to the faucet. The skin at the back of my neck had begun to prickle. Someone—something—was watching me. I couldn’t tell what it was or where it was coming from, but slowly, the atmosphere changed, and there was no denying the faint, weak touch of a nearby spirit.
I’d lingered too long. I twisted the knobs to turn off the water, but as I turned to leave, I spotted the white-blonde shape from the corner of my left eye.
A delicate, hazy figure was reflected in the long, gold-rimmed mirror—the same girl who’d visited me only a few nights before.
My breath caught in relief.
“H-hello.” My throat was dry, but I still managed to whisper out a semi-coherent greeting.
This time, she didn’t run away, and as the last of the overheadlights flickered, her pale features solidified into something more human. She was older than I thought—a young woman, maybe even around my age—and looked back at me with her big, baby-blue eyes.
Her soft pink lips parted, but when she spoke, her voice was too soft for me to hear.
I was not afraid. Instead, the sight of her caused my stomach to knot in guilt. I’d started this process to help her, and at the first sign of trouble, I’d gotten distracted.
“I’m sorry.” I placed my hand on the glass beside her reflection. Her lips stopped moving as her gaze moved to my fingers.
I hated this helpless feeling. “I don’t know what you want.”
She didn’t try to speak again. Instead, she cocked her head as soft curls framed her cheeks. Then, with a slowness that left me breathless, she raised her hand too.
There was an eerie quiet moving across the room, and my skirt fluttered against my calves as the stale air shifted. The coldness grew more pronounced as she pressed the tips of her fingers close to my palm.
“Please don’t try to help me.” Her voice touched my head even as her lips stayed still. “You need to stay away,” she said, repeating the warning she’d given me once before. “You shouldn’t risk yourself. It’s not worth it.”
What wasn’t worth it?
But, as I watched her—the way her eyes clearly betrayed her desire to be saved—I couldn’t.
